


a year of you

by miyaudrey



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, New Year's Eve, Reminiscing, They love each other, it's very romantic and sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28457058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miyaudrey/pseuds/miyaudrey
Summary: On New Year’s Eve, Atsumu reflects on a year of Sakusa Kiyoomi.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 22
Kudos: 360





	a year of you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trouvqille](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trouvqille/gifts).



> this is by no means my best work, but I wanted to get something out. happy new year! 2020 was a shitty year, but I discovered sakuatsu, so it wasn't ALL bad.
> 
> I'm gifting this to matt, who has been so supportive of me recently and really cheered me on when I showed a snippet of this. this is in honour of you!!
> 
> I love these two so much. it's a messy fic but I hope you enjoy nonetheless.

Atsumu and Kiyoomi started dating on New Year’s Eve. Well, New Year’s Day. It depends on who you ask.

Kiyoomi would say New Year’s Day. Atsumu kissed him at midnight—and bellowed out, loud and confident over the bustle of celebration around them, “Be my boyfriend!”

He’d said yes. And kept to his word.

But if you asked Atsumu, he’d say New Year’s Eve. His reasoning? He was the one who  _ asked  _ Kiyoomi to attend the gathering,  _ for him,  _ because he wanted to celebrate the beginning of a new year with him. His voice had wobbled slightly as he asked, riddled by nerves, because it had  _ almost _ felt like he was finally asking him out. He’d spent an agonising four months nursing a crush—one that tore at his insides, giving a home to a ravaging beast in his gut, rather than a flutter of butterflies. It beaded sweat on his forehead and sucked all the breath out of his lungs and made it so  _ difficult  _ to exist in the vicinity of Kiyoomi. It was  _ painful.  _ Apparently, so was asking a question as simple as, “Are you going to go to the party at Inunaki’s? You should. You know, to hang out with me.”

Liking Sakusa Kiyoomi was an irritating experience, like being unable to scratch an itch. 

_ Loving  _ Sakusa Kiyoomi was something so different entirely. It was  _ wonderful. _

Here he sits, one year after finally landing a space in Kiyoomi’s life, on a balcony at ten minutes to midnight. Osaka’s city is swarming with people braving the crowds for a glimpse of the fireworks show at night—the sounds of voices and vehicles weave together until it becomes white noise to Atsumu. He’s too busy listening to the man beside him.

“And I mean—Tsumu. Listen. I think we should actually go ahead and do it. I mean, you’re already moving in, and I  _ trust you,  _ so we should. We have enough money for it.”

Atsumu raises a brow and rolls his head sideways to look at Kiyoomi, who switches his glass from one hand to the other to wipe the excess condensation on his hoodie—which is actually  _ Atsumu’s,  _ because Kiyoomi is a dirty clothes thief and gets away with it somehow—and pulls the glass to his mouth to slurp at the drops of stickiness sliding down the glass. He looks back at Atsumu hopefully. 

“Omi, I’m all for this, but you’re aware that having a dog is  _ messy,  _ right? Like… What if it shits inside? Gets food and water everywhere? Sheds fur? You  _ hate  _ when things are dirty.” Atsumu asserts—not to dissuade Kiyoomi, but to remind him of what they’d be getting into. The notion alone of owning a dog with his own  _ boyfriend  _ winds him like nothing else, and he knows it would be good for the both of them. He  _ needs _ this to be good for them.

“I know,” Kiyoomi laughs and turns back towards the city skyline. He closes his eyes against it all, breathes it in. “But they’re pretty clean otherwise. I think we could do it. It would be worth it, you know? We’d be really good dog owners.”

Atsumu hums in agreement and sips his drink. It’s a sorry excuse for a peach martini, which is Kiyoomi’s favourite cocktail—it’s one they made in the kitchen together, howling over the utter failure of it, except it’s been poured into regular water glasses. It’s an excuse to have  _ more  _ of it—the way Kiyoomi had beamed over it and grinned at the taste on his tongue sent Atsumu’s heart soaring, and he couldn’t resist allowing it.. He wasn’t sure if it was ever going to  _ stop  _ being so whipped _ ,  _ at this rate. Atsumu was going to end up with some sorta health problem, judging by the way Kiyoomi made him feel.

It’s been a year of Sakusa Kiyoomi taking up space in many facets of his life—the forefront of his mind, the centre of his heart, the corners of his home… 

A year of laughter in the living room over takeaway with shitty television shows. A year of Kiyoomi leeching off of Atsumu’s warmth by wrapping his ice cold limbs around Atsumu’s bare torso and pressing his knobby toes into his ankles. A year of sex—really good sex, truly unmatched—that left Atsumu reeling and breathless, smiling despite exhaustion, accepting the kisses pressed to his neck and jaw. A year of playing beside Kiyoomi on the court, tossing to him with absolute precision, watching him soar. A year of being irrevocably and wholly in love with Sakusa Kiyoomi.

And man, what a year it’s been.

Atsumu sips his drink. The peach flavour is sweet, a sugary coating on his lips. A reminder.

  
  
  


He recalls their first kiss like it was yesterday. It was right on the dot of midnight, last year—a spur of the moment thing, a twist of his hand in Kiyoomi’s shirtfront and a quick jerky pull forward. The result: a fervorous smush of their mouths, smack-bang in the middle of Inunaki’s spacious living room, surrounded by friends and colleagues and people that didn’t matter in that moment because Kiyoomi was  _ kissing back.  _ His ears had been deafened to the commotion around them, to everything that wasn’t Kiyoomi—everything that wasn’t the muted chuckle pressed against his lips. Atsumu recalls hands cupping his jaw and cheeks, soft and warm against his skin.

All his memories from then on are fuzzy. Whether it was the liquid courage that burst the dam, or the fact that continuing to function everyday when Kiyoomi was there and not being about to reach out and  _ touch _ sounded intolerable, he doesn’t know.  _ And  _ he’d already spent the greater part of a year swallowing down spontaneous confessions and yearning for something,  _ anything  _ he could get from Kiyoomi _. _

Atsumu remembers the flavour of peach martini on Kiyoomi’s lips that night, seeping onto his tongue. It didn’t dissolve at all for the next few days, but it instead lingered on his taste buds as a reminder of the kiss, just in case he was never granted the chance to seek out that warmth again. That particular drink, licked off of Kiyoomi’s lips—it was the closest he could get to tasting heaven.

Present-Kiyoomi drains his glass, tilting his head back and collecting leftover drops on his lolled-out tongue. The action is so innocent, so mindless, and Kiyoomi doesn’t even  _ realise  _ what he’s doing to Atsumu  _ all the damn time.  _ Atsumu’s hands itch to grip Kiyoomi’s chin and plant a smooch right on his lips—to mimic the past version of himself and to try, with every last dreg of determination he has, to pass on all the love he feels through the press of his lips.  _ Love. _

  
  
  


Kiyoomi was the first one to say he loves Atsumu. It took him four months, but it was no ordeal—it was a regular Wednesday morning. They didn’t have practice, and Kiyoomi had convinced Atsumu to spend the morning burrowed under the covers (a rare occurrence for Atsumu, whose routine consisted on getting up by 8 AM, even on off days), just because he wanted to cling to him like a damn koala. 

In the bathroom, whilst lazily brushing their teeth in front of the sink, they watched each other in the mirror. Atsumu’s complexion was bright—he was considerably more  _ awake,  _ and he appeared so. His hair was styled already, his  _ freckles  _ had started to reform on his nose and cheeks… He looked good. Plus, he was  _ glowing  _ already, for reasons not pertaining to his usual morning pep. 

Kiyoomi’s entire forehead had been on display, curls pushed back by his cutesy frog headband. It was a complete juxtaposition to his sunken eyes, the pout adorning his lips, and the toothpaste foam smeared around his mouth, trickling towards his chin. Needless to say, it was weirdly  _ cute _ —something that Atsumu hadn’t seen himself openly admitting about Kiyoomi in this state. Yet there he was, standing beside his hoodie-clad, grumpy boyfriend who was spraying toothpaste foam across the entire basin as he spat. It was  _ endearing,  _ and he knew it absolutely would never be if it were anyone else. It terrified him, knowing that Kiyoomi had such an effect on him—to the point where he’d  _ miss  _ it if he was rid of the chance to have it.

The part that truly rattled his bones, though, was the soft kiss placed on his lips, traces of mint breathed between them. Kiyoomi patted a damp hand to Atsumu’s cheek, huffed out a laugh that was as monotonous as it was amused, and mumbled a short and simple, “I love you.”

Atsumu froze, blood like ice in his veins. His head had hurt suddenly, and trying to comprehend it all made him feel faint. He swayed gently and curled his toes into the cold tiles to ground himself. 

They were dating, it should’ve been a given that  _ eventually,  _ Kiyoomi would most likely love him, would tell him so and would show it. It’s a natural response when you date someone you really like for a long time—and Atsumu knows he’s worthy of that kind of attention. 

But something about the confession being so mundane, whispered against his mouth whilst he was standing dumbfounded in his pyjamas and Kiyoomi looked like a  _ mess,  _ had stirred something in his chest. It was unfamiliar, but it thumped away even as Kiyoomi left the bathroom, even as a few moments went by and he still stood under the harsh glare of the light, staring at the wall in awe.

_ Kiyoomi loves him. He  _ really  _ loves Kiyoomi. _

In a split second, before his mind could catch up, Atsumu sped into the kitchen. Kiyoomi was  _ making tea,  _ a thing too  _ fucking _ casual for someone to be doing after a love confession. It’’s almost like he _ didn’t  _ turn Atsumu’s world upside down.

Atsumu spun him around with a hand on his waist and backed him up against the counter.

“Miya, wh—” Kiyoomi started, cut off by Atsumu’s mouth, pinned firmly against his. Kiyoomi had coiled his arms around Atsumu’s neck, whilst Atsumu’s hands stayed planted on his waist, fingers drumming against the fabric on his hoodie.

Atsumu belatedly realised it was  _ his  _ hoodie.

Kiyoomi had broken away, resting his forehead against Atsumu’s. It was so cheesy, so sappy, yet so much like  _ them _ . “Stupid Tsumu. What’s gotten into you, hmm?”

Atsumu pecked at Kiyoomi’s face—over his cheeks, nose, forehead, jaw, temples, and once again his mouth. “Do you know what you’re doing to me?” He mumbled, then, louder, “I love you. I love you so much. You make me insane. I love you.”

Kiyoomi laughs then—he snorts, and snickers, and it’s not the prettiest sound, objectively, but Atsumu wanted to bottle it up and treasure it forever. If he could record it, and wake up to it blaring through his phone speaker every morning for the rest of his life, he would.

“Is that what this is about?” Kiyoomi punctuated his words with another kiss. “I love you. Stupid.”

  
  
  


Now, Atsumu sees that damn hoodie and thinks of loving Kiyoomi.

“You’re quiet. You okay?” Present-Kiyoomi asks, voice soft and eyes full of concern. Atsumu almost laughs at how far they’ve come—there was once a time where so little emotion was reflected on Kiyoomi’s face, his expressions like stone. Now, Atsumu feels like he’s been exposed to the full catalogue of Kiyoomi’s feelings. He’s  _ trusted  _ with that vulnerability—it makes him feel a bit sick with adoration.

Atsumu hums in response. He takes another sip of martini. “Just thinkin’, baby. All good. How long we got?”

Kiyoomi picks his phone up off the small table beside him and reads the bar of time at the top. “Huh. Four minutes.” He mutters, shaking his head. “Hey, that reminds me—you’re turning twenty four this year. Weird. Everyone is getting so  _ old _ .”

Atsumu chokes mid-sip, sputtering. It’s not even  _ insulting,  _ it’s the deadpan way Kiyoomi says things.  _ That  _ has barely changed over the months—Atsumu has grown so accustomed to the ever so slight lilt, so much that it became completely comprehensible to him every time.

“You’re not  _ that  _ much younger than me, Omi. Come on, now.”

Kiyoomi laughs, louder and brighter this time, and settles his head against Atsumu’s shoulder. His ear is  _ icy  _ against his neck. Atsumu turns and presses a kiss to Kiyoomi’s hair.

Atsumu thinks about turning 24, and the fact that Kiyoomi is turning 23.

  
  
  


Atsumu thinks of when  _ he  _ turned 23.

Kiyoomi had planned the entire event—with Samu’s help and permission, of course, since they shared a birthday. They’re twins, and they  _ never _ celebrate separately. Kiyoomi knew this, and understood. It took him three weeks to prepare.

All of Atsumu’s immediate family were there: Samu, of course, his parents, some cousins—even  _ granny!  _ Their friends all showed up, too. Sunarin was glued to Samu’s hip, and Komori stood beside them with the rest of MSBY, some of their friends on other teams, Aran,  _ Kita-san _ , all the Inarizaki alumni...

The moment he walked into his apartment and saw them crowded around his kitchen counter, the waterworks started  _ immediately. _

Tears streamed down his cheeks in fat droplets, and sobs escaped his throat unbidden. Something had burst, deep inside of Atsumu, and suddenly he was  _ flooded _ with emotion.

“Hey, hey! Atsumu,” Kiyoomi had said, pulling him close and cradling his face between soft hands. “Don’t cry. Oh god, I should’ve known you’d start crying.” 

He was barking out a bright laugh, though, so Atsumu laughed with him. Then he realised the implications of Kiyoomi’s words. 

“Omi.” He began, voice wavering and nasally. He sniffled. “Did you plan all this?” He gestured around the room—there were streamers in black, red and gold hanging from ceiling corners, and balloons strewn across the hardwood floor. All his favourite foods—many of them courtesy of his brother—filled the counter, along with a cake. Lemon cake, with the icing that was kinda sour. His favourite. 

Seeing it all—knowing Kiyoomi thought it all up and did this  _ for him,  _ produced another wave of tears. They spilled out, despite his best efforts to conceal them. Kiyoomi cooed and coaxed his head onto his shoulder, trying to push a tissue into his balled-up fist.

“I did. Do you like it?”

_ Like  _ would be the understatement of the century—Atsumu’d been so ridiculously overcome with a feeling that had been building in his chest completely unknowingly that it was beginning to  _ hurt,  _ because  _ this _ was undeniably the epitome of love. He knew love was supposed to hurt, but he didn’t realise that a lot of the time, it hurt  _ good,  _ so much that he didn’t have the voice to verbalise it, so much that it was almost  _ too much.  _ It was a lot and not enough and it all boiled down to one thing: Anything that Sakusa Kiyoomi contributed to Miya Atsumu’s life served to prove that this was it for him. He was  _ so gone  _ and fully devoted _ ,  _ nevermind that it had been less than a year.

This birthday was officially his favourite. It had been not even five minutes into celebrations, and he was already a blubbering mess in his living room. And yet, the urge to give in and kiss Kiyoomi silly in front of  _ all  _ their guests was overwhelming enough that he just  _ knew _ .

“I love it. I love it so much. I love  _ you. _ ” He kissed Kiyoomi amongst the sniffles and hiccups. There could have been a dribble of snot on his cupid’s bow, and tears transferring onto Kiyoomi’s cheeks, but he was kissing back—so it didn’t matter. “I love you so much. Holy fuck.  _ Kiyoomi.  _ For me?”

“Of course. I wanted you to have a good day. I know you said last year’s wasn’t so nice because you couldn’t see Osamu so… I made sure everyone was here this year. For you, my love. Of course.”

_ Of course.  _ Kiyoomi remembered one small detail, out of millions of things he’d previously told him. He listened, he understood, and he stayed and accommodated anyways. All the time. Because that’s what you do when you truly love someone.

  
  
  
  


Present-Kiyoomi twists his head and reaches up to thumb at Atsumu’s cheek. It comes away glistening with a tear. “Are you  _ sure  _ you’re okay? Why are you crying?”

Atsumu just laughs, shaking his head. There’s no point hiding it. “I was just thinking about how much I love you.”

Kiyoomi pulls away, furrowing his brows and glaring at Atsumu.

“Wha—I thought you were upset!”

“I’m sorry!” Atsumu responds, exasperated and _fond._ He can’t help smiling. “I didn’t realise it was happening! I just love you!”

Kiyoomi continues to frown at him, Atsumu continues to fall deeper.

Amidst it all, chanting begins in the streets below. Atsumu looks up to the sky. It’s the same deep teal that it was a year prior. Atsumu was inside for the countdown, standing shoulder to shoulder with Kiyoomi and gearing up to kiss him. 

This year, he’s beside him once again. He’ll kiss him, and Kiyoomi’ll kiss back, because he doesn’t have to worry about this anymore. They love each other.  _ That’s _ what a year together does to you.

Kiyoomi is quietly chanting along. There is a childlike wonder glowing in his eyes, matched with a quirk of his lips. His dimples are showing. Idly, Atsumu thinks about how he’s spent a year adoring those dimples.  _ It’s been a year of Kiyoomi. _

Suddenly, a chorus of  _ Happy New Year!  _ echoes across Osaka. Fireworks begin to burst in the sky—flashes of gold, and green, red and blue, stretching across and painting the sky with light. Atsumu watches in astonishment. Another year flies by, bookended by a celebration of colour. 

The real show, however, is the man beside him. Kiyoomi stares up at the fireworks in awe, eyes wide and glassy. The flashes reflect in his eyes and gleam against his skin. His mouth hangs slightly ajar. They’re alone at home, he’s only wearing Atsumu’s hoodie, his hair is messy and he’s  _ kinda  _ buzzed, but he looks so happy. and so… Content.

“Kiyoomi. Look at me.”

He does. Atsumu curls a hand at his nape and pulls him forward, and with all his might and all the affection he could possibly convey, he kisses him. 

It’s routine at this point—Kiyoomi huffs a soft laugh against his lips. He mumbles something indecipherable before taking Atsumu’s bottom lip between his again. It feels like it lasts years, but he pulls away after ten seconds. Atsumu is so dizzy. His face is sandwiched between Kiyoomi’s hands, thumbs are wiping back and forth across the apples of his cheeks. The breeze whips his skin, and he realises he’s crying  _ again _ .

“Happy New Year, baby. I love you.” He chokes out.

Kiyoomi falls forward until his forehead knocks against Atsumu’s. 

“Happy  _ anniversary,  _ Atsumu. I love you. I want another year with you.”

And so, they will  _ have  _ another year. Together.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading and supporting!! I hope you liked sappy sakuatsu as much as I did! here's to 2021!
> 
> find me on twitter — @sakusauds. yell at me about these two.


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